


i couldn’t draw my own face if god asked

by sanriodanshi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanriodanshi/pseuds/sanriodanshi
Summary: levi moves abroad to study in england and finds himself tasked with navigating newfound loneliness and an uncanny obsession with a man whose face he has yet to rememberalternatively: the art school au that nobody asked for
Relationships: Levi/Erwin Smith, Moblit Berner/Hange Zoë, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 24
Kudos: 53





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i just want to preface this with the disclaimer that i actually dont live in london, and therefore have no idea what im talking about 80% of the time. i am, however, a uk based art student and can safely say i know my way around bullshitting the experiences of a fine art major. please forgive me if i make any glaringly obvious mistakes in regards to the location 
> 
> aside from that, this is actually my first fic and ive very much been enjoying writing it! updates may be slow, but i'll hopefully be trying my best to keep to a semi-regular schedule. the title is an excerpt taken from "the vault" by andrés cerpa :)
> 
> big thank you to my wife, for beta reading my indecipherable eruri bullshit

In deciding to move to London, Levi had invited the promise of pollution and filth into his life. Even deep into his second year at university, he was unable to shake off the incessant dread that would flood him upon setting foot into underground stations.

Granted, it got easier over time. (As Hange had theorised it would. Originally, she had been the one to dismiss Levi's claims that he would drop out so he wouldn't have to make the daily commute.) But never did he learn to enjoy the dreaded journey to his seminars. His proximity to the public, coupled with the need to touch the unsanitary surfaces within the train carriage, made travelling a nightmare. Truly, he often considered walking the hour to campus.

But he didn’t, wouldn’t—because even he was aware that that was an obsessive measure to take. And for what? All to avoid a little contact with strangers on a packed train each day? Levi wasn’t that desperate.

(Or maybe he was, and unable to admit that to himself. Instead, he'd berate himself for even considering it as an option.)

With that in mind, he’d board the subway in a precise and timely manner and would tuck himself into the furthest corner of the carriage. If he kept himself out of sight, and away from the doors, most people steered clear of him. There was the occasional jostle, but nothing too particularly overwhelming.

During the early morning rush hour, however, where he'd stand stiffly clutching the handrail covered by a handkerchief he'd brought along for that exact purpose, he'd compartmentalise the flood of panic and attempt to ground himself. He found it easier to ignore his surroundings, and the throb of familiar compulsions dominating his mind, should he have a space to escape to.

In this case, that space took the form of a recurrent daydream. One that he had been revisiting for as long as he could remember.

As he so often did, he focused on conjuring up the image of a world wherein blood would evaporate into clouds of steam, and people took to the skies with the assistance of bulky looking contraptions.

Beneath him, the tracks would rumble. Around him, people coughed and spluttered and scowled. But it would no longer matter. The grim atmosphere would trickle away, dwindling until it was nothing but white noise humming at the back of his mind.

He would be too preoccupied to take any notice of that meandering reality, busy with his safe haven. It was a place where logic was defied and he sought comfort in the impossibilities of the strange landscape encapsulating him.

Once, when he was much younger, he had shared the full extent of these fantasies with his uncle. But these childish tales were met only with blatant disregard, and a disgruntled dismissal. Having what would later become his sole coping mechanism repudiated so easily had lead to the harbouring of an intensive refusal to vocalise his thoughts. (The only exception being Furlan, a childhood friend to who Levi briefly explained snippets of his drawings.)

This was further worsened when, during high school, a counsellor had gone as far to suggest he seek further professional help. His regular panic attacks were worrying enough, let alone when factoring in the extent of how much he seemed to live inside of his head. He had ignored such advice, tossing out each concerned letter sent home addressed to Kenny. And somehow, against the odds, he had later successfully made it through his teenage years without psychological intervention, and a decent enough portfolio of work to land him in art school to boot.

It wasn't so much that he had a passion for the subject. Rather, he'd found that his overly active imagination made for a fantastic showing of left-brained ingenuity. That was to say, after years of desperately attempting to copy his daydreams onto paper, Levi had somehow managed to hone his skills, resulting in an uncanny talent within fine art.

But with this turn of events came the unfortunate consequence that he could never properly be proud of his achievements. His work consistently fell short of meeting his impossibly high standards; praise from professors and peers alike meant nothing when he was painfully unable to accurately represent the finer details.

After all, despite how hard he'd try to retain the visual of Erwin's face, he'd surge back to reality before he was able to figure out whether his eyes were more of a Payne's grey or an ultramarine blue; if the undertones of his skin were peachy, or instead that of a richly burnt ochre. The answers to these questions evaded him, no matter how much he pleaded with his mind to have mercy, to allow him this small kindness.

( _Please,_ he'd think, so fiercely that his lips would part against his will as if to form the words themselves, _please, please, please_.)

Levi was in love with a notion. That much was obvious. But even that notion was half-complete, the manifestation of an anti-climactic culmination to years worth of daydreams.

To date, he had little influence over these daydreams. Despite using them as a means to distract himself from distressing daily occurrences, he wasn’t ever able to control them at will. He would be plunged into some new scenario each time he allowed his mind to wander: one second he might be stood atop a terracotta roof, hands clutching two rectangular swords—the next he would be on horseback, in an unfamiliar field of green, staring up at walls that ascended seemingly to the heavens. He'd emerge from the murky cloud of these visions and idly sketch out certain aspects of that specific scene: the overtly towering pine trees on the horizon, the crest of a woman's side profile that decorated the banners hung from these peculiar walls.

Most importantly, no matter how many times he would attempt to will himself into scenarios which involved Erwin directly, he always failed. He wasn't even able to so much as sway the themes or circumstances he would find himself envisioning. Weeks could go by without a glimpse of him, without even a mention of his name—and it was these times that Levi especially hated the most.

All he could say for certain was that Erwin was tall and blonde, with a strong, aquiline nose. By this point, he had convinced himself that he would die happy if he could only remember what it was that this man looked like.

He took a staggering breath.

The train came to a halt.

The crowd surrounding him surged into motion.

He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that they'd already pulled into his station.

Shrinking further into the confines of his coat, he worried at his lower lip with his teeth. In that moment of hesitation, the doors opened. With it came the associated smells of the underground, overwhelming the carriage with the stench of smog and dirt. A flood of passengers soon spilt out onto the exterior platform, whilst outside an entirely new set of people waited to board.

It took several seconds for him to compose himself enough to release his hold upon the handrail to pocket his handkerchief. He clenched his fingers, fisting his hand as a cramp surged from the very tips of his fingers up to the core of his forearm. It was no doubt a consequence of how long and hard he’d been clutching the railing.

To further avoid touching anything on his departure, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, ducking out from the open doors with a courtesy nod toward those waiting patiently before shoving past him.

Once out on the platform, caught in the middle of what looked to be hundreds of commuters and pedestrians, he glanced around himself. His immediate intention was to navigate the easiest way to exit the throng of people surrounding him. This was the part he hated the most: the busyness of city life, the threat of cross-contamination and the overstimulation of physical contact. Sometimes, even the briefest of touches sent him spiralling. 

(On a bad day, he'd lock himself in the bathrooms of the art department and scrub at his hands so fiercely that he would soon be hyperventilating.)

But today wasn't a bad day, Levi reminded himself. Today, he would be meeting Hange for coffee. And, later, he would go grocery shopping, and even later than that he would perhaps stop by the art supply chain store he'd been canvassing for days now. He was running low on several colours in his palette. If he was especially careful with his money, he should be able to afford at least one precious tube of oil paint.

To his left, he spotted an opening in the crowd and he moved to fill it, expertly darting past and toward the staircase. (This was, perhaps, the one benefit of his short stature: the ability to make a hasty exit.)

Relieved, he smiled. The crowd was thinning, and he opted to take the staircase rather than the escalators positioned on either side of him. He climbed toward the station upstairs, glad to be free of the stuffy air.

Fishing his phone from his satchel and unlocking it as he ascended, he waited impatiently for it to regain its signal. He knew by the time displayed on his phone screen that he was already running late, having agreed to meet Hange over ten minutes prior. At the realisation, he resigned himself to an inevitable lecture from her, fully aware that the university was still a five-minute walk away.

It was with that resignation that Levi knew it was going to be an insufferably long day.

(And he'd rather a long day, than a bad day.)

Almost as soon as Levi rounded the corner, his focus was on locating Hange amid the myriad of people loitering around the university entrance.

It wasn't hard.

Nearly immediately, he caught sight of rapid movement and turned to see none other than Hange herself waving him over maniacally. Judging by how quickly she had spurred into action, one arm thrown haphazardly into the air, she had already been on the lookout for him, too.

"Took y’long enough," She called out as he approached, her free hand cupped around her mouth to carry her voice further (as if she needed the assistance; he would have effortlessly heard her from miles away, given the fact that she was notoriously loud—and not to mention overly excitable).

Half-heartedly, he lifted his own hand in a brief greeting, drawing closer to better address her directly, "Be grateful I even showed. I could still be in bed right now."

Hange grinned, “Don't act like you have anything better to do. Face it, you don't sleep anyway, pipsqueak."

This was true. There was no point in denying it; Levi was an infamous insomniac, so much so that it had become somewhat of a running gag between them. Glowering at her in response, he shrugged off the remark to instead change the trajectory of the conversation, "I’m here, anyway. Let's go, before I change my mind."

"Ah, ah, ah!" Hange interjected, turning upon him and wagging a finger in his face, "All in due time, my vertically challenged friend."

"What?” Levi spat, irked, reaching up to slap away the finger jabbing at him.

"I said to wait a second, yeah?" She simpered, a toothy smile still plastered over her face. There was nothing more she enjoyed than pestering him. "Moblit still hasn’t gotten here yet." She finally confessed, almost sheepishly.

At that, Levi's face fell immediately.

“Moblit's coming too?" He groaned, "You didn’t mention that."

“Of course I didn't," She sang, facing away from him now. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, craning her neck to enable her to better look over the heads of the crowd to locate Moblit, "I knew you'd never have agreed to come if I had."

Hange and Moblit had been an item since the beginning of their collective second year—and Levi genuinely didn't feel like taking a backseat to their sickening grope session that day. Third-wheeling had never been his thing, but it was only made worse by how Moblit would glance back nervously at him from his place beside Hange as if silently attempting to convey his apologies that Levi was once again an unwilling passenger to their obnoxious love-fest.

Moblit wasn't the only one with these concerns. Over that past year especially, it had gradually become clear that their circle of friends were all beginning to couple up at an alarming rate. Levi was the odd one out, refuting all and every one of Hange's attempts to get him to " _loosen up_ ," as she had put it countless times. There were suggestions of blind dates, of dinner and drinks, phone numbers scrawled on scrap paper slipped into his belongings when he hadn't been paying attention. It took every ounce of energy not to snap at her, and it was a miracle Levi had held off of crucifying her for so long thus far.

In truth, he retained little interest in the idea of a relationship. It had always been this way. Even during high school he had merely watched in unfazed disinterest whilst his peers dated and broke up, experimenting with drugs and alcohol and their sexuality all the while. Meanwhile, the most risqué act of delinquency that Levi had ever engaged within had been the time he had stolen cigarettes from Kenny. He swiped them straight out of the pack left idly on the counter, before then proceeding to smoke only a single one of them. (He decided soon after that smoking wasn't for him, either, pawning off the remainder of the stolen cigarettes to schoolyard acquaintances.) Furlan liked to tease him for such, even though he, too, was equally as dull. Arguably, it was why the two of them were so close in the first place.

Vaguely, he was aware that the reason both Hange and their mutual friends were so determined to see him in a relationship was that they worried for him. They found happiness in their idle romances, enough so that they wished to extend that happiness to Levi.

But Levi was content in watching from the sidelines.

He only wished that Hange would believe him when he told her so.

(Because the real reason behind his lack of a relationship was much more complicated; how on earth was he expected to commit to another person when he was already so invested in an idealised man he'd fabricated from a figment of his imagination? How was anybody supposed to compete with Erwin Smith, the facelessly handsome extraordinaire? And, come to think of it, why on earth was Levi so obsessed with a face that he couldn't even remember?)

"Hey," Hange prompted suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Levi's wrist excitedly, "He's here!"

"Who's here?" Levi echoed, blinking himself back to reality. He'd almost zoned out, catching himself only moments before his surroundings could take a backseat to what would soon become a full-fledged daydream.

(He was almost disappointed that Hange had disrupted that; what if that daydream had been the one where Erwin was finally revealed to him, in all of his anonymous glory?)

"Moblit, of course!" Hange answered, her grip unexpectedly tightening on his arm. And that was all the warning he had before she was effectively dragging them both off to the side, elbowing her way past the people that surrounded them.

Levi's lips drew back into a furious grimace. He was trying (unsuccessfully) to keep up with her, stumbling every few steps as she yanked him mindlessly along behind. He pulled his arm out from her hold, grasping onto the fabric of her sweatshirt and attempting to (again, unsuccessfully) restrain her from bulldozing dozens of innocent bystanders to accomplish her goal of tackling Moblit to the ground.

"Moblit!" Levi yelled in warning, as Hange finally broke away from him and took off in a running leap toward her poor, unsuspecting boyfriend, "Watch it!"

Whilst this was occurring, Moblit had clearly been searching for them. He was glancing around himself, one hand lifted to block the oppressive rays of sunlight obscuring his view, the other resting on his hip. At the last second, however, he had heard Levi's call of caution and spun on his heel to face the oncoming barrage. He was just in time to brace himself, holding out his arms with a yelp as Hange propelled herself forward and threw her own arms around his neck. He stumbled backwards, and Levi winced, fully expecting them both to tumble to the ground in a heap.

Except, they didn't.

Moblit, against all odds, regained his balance before he was able to completely lose his footing. Supporting them both, he held Hange upward and allowed her to plant a kiss to both of his cheeks. Bashfully, he grinned down at her, nestled in his arms with a shit-eating smile plastered over her face. "Moblit!" She greeted him gleefully, seemingly completely ignorant to the sheer number of people who had stopped to stare at the scene she had just made.

Levi only wished he had the same privilege. He was all too aware of the eyes boring into the three of them and wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground.

No doubt Moblit felt the same, as his face ripened to a deep shade of crimson and he pried Hange away from him to put a respectable amount of distance between them both. She pouted, immediately pressing herself as closely against him as he would allow, lacing their fingers together determinedly. (And Moblit relented, letting her do so.)

"Hey, Levi!" He greeted when he was finally content that enough people had lost interest and turned back to their own conversations. "Sorry I'm late," He added, addressing the two of them now.

Averting his eyes, Levi shrugged lamely, "It's fine. Hange didn't even tell me you were coming."

Moblit's face soured. The accusation in Levi's words went unspoken but remained there nonetheless. "I see," Moblit said after a brief hesitation, narrowing his eyes down at Hange. In response, she rested her head against his shoulder with an airy giggle. Moblit only rolled his eyes. He hated it almost as much as Levi did when she involved him in her schemes.

"Let's just get going," She finally said, breaking the awkward tension between the three of them. "So what if I didn't tell Levi? He's here now, isn't he?"

At this, she released her hold on Moblit to throw an arm around Levi's shoulders, drawing him to her side and ruffling a hand through his hair as she did so. "And he forgives me anyway, don't'cha, Levi?"

"No." Levi deadpanned, and he punctuated this by using the flat of his palm to shove her face away from where it hovered close to his own, "I really don't."


	2. two

The coffee shop that the trio regularly occupied was a short walk from the campus, nestled amid the various chain stores and fast-food places that supplied an entire generation of students with an abundance of quick meals and caffeine.

They had established it as their designated lunch-time meet-up spot during the second semester of their first year, not long after having gotten acquainted, and it had remained as such ever since. Mostly, the decision was a byproduct of the relatively cheap prices in comparison to the likes of Starbucks, and it was perhaps the only coffee shop that wasn't always completely swamped with fellow students. (Except during exam periods, where the excess demand for study space meant that the population of exhausted twenty-somethings seemed to double overnight, robbing them of their routine.)

Upon entering the store, a bell overhead chimed to signal their arrival, and Levi dutifully held the door open behind him for Hange. Truthfully, he had half a mind to let it slam shut in her face for her earlier stunt with Moblit. But he didn't, because already he'd found himself having forgiven her. He was enjoying their company more than he would like to admit. 

On the walk over, they'd discussed their weekend plans, Moblit's upcoming dissertation (which was going horribly, he claimed), Hange's current art project (hideous), Levi's love life (horrendous). It was almost a relief that all three of them were walking disasters; it made Levi feel less alone to have at least two other people to recount his misfortunes to, who would not only listen but laugh and relate, too.

Inside, it was stuffy. The decor was mostly unremarkable: a large checkout area dominating the forefront of the store, chalkboard menus hung overhead displaying the daily specials and delicacies in slanted handwriting, a small seating area close-by with additional booths grouped at the back of the café. The lighting was low and the colours were muted, almost all browns or other equally as uninspiring neutral tones. It was kept relatively clean here, and they would usually seat themselves in the furthest corner away from any other customers, so Levi was more able to relax. 

They were laughing as they approached the counter, where they were met by a smiling barista.

Moblit paused to study the menu, despite always ordering the same thing. Hange hung back, hands clasped behind her back with a look of feigned innocence. Levi stepped up to ask for his usual order of a small black tea, and was in the process of counting out coins to pay when Hange leaned over him, "And I'll have a mocha. Make it a large." She said, a self-satisfied smile plastered over her face at the look of horror Levi gave to her. Before he could protest, the barista was already keying in the order and glancing up to survey the two of them in questioning. 

"Paying... together?" The barista asked sceptically, looking between the two of them as Levi regarded Hange with a roll of his eyes.

"No," Levi deadpanned, at the same moment that Hange declared, "Yes!"

"I'll pay," Moblit interrupted them both, hurriedly, grasping for his wallet and pulling out a ten-pound note, "For all three." He reiterated, "I'll have an iced latte. Medium, if you don't mind."

Hange laughed happily, glad to have gotten her own way. Too often, she'd purposefully forget her wallet at home and pester her friends into picking up the tab. Levi had given up trying to get her to pay him back for all of the instances that she'd tricked him into buying her lunch for her. (Maybe that was why she'd invited Moblit along: she'd have not one, but two unsuspecting victims to con into forking out cash for her coffee order.) 

Irritated, Levi tried to hide his discomfort at Moblit paying for his tea, too. Because even though Moblit was arguably the most financially stable of the three of them, Levi couldn't shake off his reluctance to accept financial help from anybody. He was perfectly capable of paying his own way, even if he was basically surviving off of a maximum student loan that still didn't seem nearly enough when living in a city such as London. 

They collected their drinks from the other side of the bar several minutes later, approaching their regular seats at the back of the café soon after. Hange collapsed into the booth, shortly followed by Moblit, and Levi sat across from them both. He watched as Moblit fished his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his abundance of notifications, while Hange looked over his shoulder nosily. 

The two of them almost always seemed to be touching each other. They moved so effortlessly together, Moblit contorting himself to accommodate whatever weird angle Hange would burrow into him. Almost automatically, he slung an arm around her lazily, putting his phone facedown on the table as he did so to reach for his coffee. 

"How's the whole art thing going for you, anyway, Levi?" Moblit asked, smiling, "Hange has been telling me all about your paintings."

He nodded, fixating on stirring his tea in embarrassment. "It's good," He said, "I mean, it's not all looking like total shit."

"It's wonderful, Levi," Hange insisted, "I keep telling him not to be so _modest_ ," She scoffed, directing this to Moblit now.

Levi's work was predominantly landscape based. He painted in oil, depicting whimsical scenes ripped directly from his own dreamscape. He supposed it could be comparable to realism, considering he tried to keep his work as proportionate and accurate as possible, appealing to his desire for true-to-life representation. But quite honestly, there was always something _off_ about these paintings. Even he was never able to put his finger on exactly _why_. Each painting seemed to emit an almost unsettling sense of other-worldliness, something that he had been both praised and critiqued for on a number of occasions. 

Also characteristic of his work was the lack of any figures, the fact the landscapes were being viewed from a near omnipresent perspective and the usage of a very near-identical colour palette in each one. (It was ugly, really, consisting mostly of earthy hues and muddy brows.) 

Hange, on the other hand, was a sculptor.

If you could call her that.

Admittedly, her work certainly required an immense skill within the arts. But it was what she did with that skill which Levi couldn't quite understand. 

Working with clay, she would craft ugly, humanoid figurines, giving each one grotesquely exaggerated features and uniquely repulsive proportions. Levi would watch in awe as she worked on these monstrosities—carving out hollow eyes and gaping mouths that hung open in ways which made him inexplicably uncomfortable. 

Worse yet, she'd name every one of them.

In the last instance of her creating one of these sculptures, she had made her biggest yet. They often varied in size, but this one was practically the height of a full-grown toddler. One weekend not long ago, she had even lugged it home from the university studios to keep it as a centrepiece in her apartment.

The apartment that she _shared with Moblit._

("How's that going for you?" Levi had inquired once when they were all seated in one of the booths within that very coffee shop. He hid his smile behind his teacup, watching as Moblit glanced between him and Hange, horrified, before forcing an unconvincing smile. 

"Great," He replied, " _Really_ great," And it was here that his voice had begun to crack, "Hange has decided to name him Bean.")

Currently, she was experimenting with the various ways she could continue to individualise each of her creations. Each day seemingly came with yet another stomach-churning idea, the latest being a sculpture covered entirely in hair.

"Sort of like a monkey," Hange was now explaining for the umpteenth time, nodding to herself proudly, "A _beast_ if you will."

"That's gross," Levi said, plainly. Moblit guiltily looked to the side in agreement. 

"It's my Meret Oppenheim phase." She laughed, "I'm thinking I'll make him even bigger than Bean."

"Hange, are you sure that's a good idea?" Moblit interjected, panicked, "I mean, don't you think Bean is already pretty big?"

"Oh, relax, Moblit," Hange rolled her eyes, as if Moblit's stress wasn't wholly understandable, "I'm not going to bring _this_ one home, too."

Whilst they spoke, Levi ducked his head and idly studied the dregs of his tea. His cup was almost empty by this point, with the little remaining liquid long since having gone cold. He was drawing into himself, listening to his friends bicker back and forth with an odd contentment settling in the pit of his stomach. He was warm. Both from the interior of the coffee shop being kept overly steamy from the brewing of coffee and by the brief acknowledgement that he was here, and he was alive, and he was in the presence of people who loved him. And admittedly, Levi loved them, too. 

Since leaving home, thereby also leaving the only two friend's he had ever known, Levi hadn't been certain such a decision was in his best interest. When he had first arrived in London, he had been overwhelmed by the cultural shock, by the homesickness he hadn't expected to feel. His accent drew a fair amount of unwanted commentary, his decision to study fine arts warranting prying questions. He wished people would mind their own business more often, would leave him to his own devices. 

He wasn't used to such attention. He had lived his life prior to this fading into the background in an attempt to avoid the scrutiny and the judgement from both his peers and legal guardian. After all, he'd grown up secluded and weird. He was almost always isolated, unable to socialise and failing to fit in with other children of his age. Meanwhile, his uncle had raised him at arm's length. Kenny had shown such minimal interest in Levi's life that he was practically absentee throughout the entirety of it. Neither of them shared any mutual sentiments toward their supposed family ties, and there was little love lost between them when Levi had up and left at eighteen. 

Throughout Levi's adolescence, his uncle worked night shifts at a local factory, manufacturing auto parts and various other machinery. It was a labour-intensive job that left him exhausted and overworked, and he would often come home early the next morning simply to crash on the couch fully clothed. This only served to contribute to the distance between them, leaving little opportunity for their schedules to intercept. Levi would wake up for school shortly after Kenny's return and slip out the front door silently, careful not to wake him at the risk of facing his sleep-deprived wrath. By the time he returned, his uncle would be nowhere to be found. A full ashtray and a crumpled shirt tossed haphazardly toward the laundry basket would be the only things to signify he had ever been home at all.

Kenny also didn't bother to conceal his disdain that Levi was so air-headed, almost always absorbed in his doodles and idle minded daydreaming. What little involvement he had in Levi's life would consist of meandering lectures about the _real world_ , and how Levi would never make it if he didn't take his head out of the clouds.

At the inevitable discovery that Levi had applied to study in England, at an art school of all things, Kenny's lip had curled upward in distaste. "Whatever," He had said, "It's _your_ funeral, kid." And then he'd stood from his place at the kitchen table and departed for work, leaving Levi sullen and silent in his wake. (They hadn't discussed it again, not even when Levi received an email notifying him that his submitted portfolio had been reviewed and on behalf of the university, the admissions team would be delighted to offer him a place of study.)

It had actually been Hange to eventually reassure Levi that he hadn't royally fucked up by choosing to move abroad.

She, like Levi, was an international student. However, whereas Levi had been fluent in English since high school, Hange's English had originally been nowhere near as good. Her French was somehow even worse. Moblit had been her saving grace, dedicatedly tutoring her to fluency and serving as a translator for her when she’d forget herself and fly off into her excitable, German-riddled rants. (Unfortunately for Moblit this meant that, through the duration of Levi and Hange's friendship, he'd been tasked with the translation of countless colourful arguments between them both.)

Her enthusiasm for life was contagious. She loved making art, and even if Levi _hated_ the art that she made, he admired her passion nonetheless. Despite language barriers, she never seemed out of her depth. (And evidently didn't waste her life second-guessing herself.) Before their unlikely friendship had formed, Levi had spent most of his time sulking about his apartment. Or, alternatively, he'd hole himself up in the studios, working on his paintings until someone ultimately appeared to insist he go home. He obsessively questioned whether he should have listened to his uncle, whether he should have stayed in France and saved himself the time and effort and debt. Imposter syndrome mixed obsessively with self-hatred, his insecurities mocking his naïve hopes he would have been able to make it in a damned art school. 

In his hopelessness, Levi had asked Hange once whether she regretted leaving home. With a casual shrug, "I regret very little," she declared in her once characteristic broken English, "No time like present, yes?"

And he tried to agree, he really did. He tried to adopt the same carefree outlook in an attempt to banish these nagging thoughts. And, although it never worked, he supposed that he could at least be glad he had Hange to keep him company in his misery.

They had met in December of their first year. Deadlines were quickly approaching, and the streets were decked out in shining lights. In recent weeks, the Christmas tree had been hoisted up in Trafalgar Square, on display for all to see and serving to mark the official beginnings of the festive season. Levi would be lying if he said he hadn't been equally as awed by the spectacle as any other tourist might be. It was to be his first Christmas away from France, as well as the first he would be spending alone.

It was also his birthday, which he was looking forward to substantially less. Never had he liked his birthday, but he suspected it would only be twice as miserable without Furlan to celebrate with. 

Over those last few months, he had managed to keep in regular contact with Furlan through text and calls, with Isabel popping in on occasion to quiz Levi on everything there was to know about London. Furlan would bat her away in irritation, but Levi would only smile at their rivalry. 

The two of them were step-siblings, and had grown up together; Isabel's mother had married Furlan's father when Isabel had been little more than a toddler. Furlan would never confess to it, but he was fiercely protective of her as a result. As was Levi—they both were. For this reason, neither of them had complained when she had taken to trailing them around at school. All three of them mutually sucked at socialising, and they opted to use that as an excuse to stick together. However, Isabel was more than forlorn at the realisation that the graduation of the older boys would mean this would no longer be a possibility, given that she was two years below them. She was further devastated by the news that Levi would be moving away for university, even if he promised to call her regularly.

"How's your search for your dream man going?" Furlan would always begin their own nightly conversations, and Levi would scoff.

"Poorly," He'd admit, neglecting to elaborate on just how often said dream man happened to cross his mind.

Furlan would laugh at this, and he would move on to ask whether Levi had found someone capable of replacing him in his position of best friend. The answer to that question, too, never changed: not even close. In fact, since moving to London, Levi had failed to make even a single friend.

He couldn't recall a moment in his life where he had ever been so lonely. Except, perhaps, in the years that immediately followed his mother's death. But Levi didn't like to dwell on that, and so he didn't. 

After saying their mutual goodnight's and hanging up, Levi would lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. At the time, he had been renting a cheap studio apartment in a shittier part of London. (Which was still ridiculously overpriced for the leaky, outdated commodities it provided.) Usually, he wouldn't even be able to sleep. It was a matter of waiting out the night, remaining awake until the ebbing of sunrise would filter into his room through the divides in his blinds. Around him, the building would creak and groan in the gloom. Other students renting the rooms adjacent to his own would come and go, leaving for early classes or arriving after a night of mindless partying. And Levi would listen, feeling almost as if he were in a whole other world entirely. A world that he did not belong to.

When morning eventually came, he would rise from his bed to shower. He would debate whether he would be able to stomach breakfast without becoming nauseous, soon settling for a freshly brewed cup of tea instead. And then he would change, mentally preparing himself for the dreaded commute to the university as he wrapped a scarf twice around his neck and toed on his boots.

He functioned on routine. Routine was, in all likelihood, the one thing coming between him and a probable meltdown. Beyond his tendency to resort to distracting himself with daydreams and escapism, Levi relied upon a comfortable familiarity to make his life more functional. Without a regular routine, he felt lost, agitated beyond measure, unable to concentrate. A break in that routine meant rethinking his entire day, trying to piece together what had been broken by the unforeseen interruption. 

On that particular morning, Levi had hurriedly entered the studio later than anticipated and had looked up to see an unfamiliar guest planted firmly in front of his work station. Already his tardiness had eaten into his schedule, being the result of an unfortunate instance of congestion taking its toll on the tube timetables. Worse yet was the fact that he hadn't been expecting company; it was a weekend, and many of his fellow students had already turned in the last of their work. He was lagging behind, having had to plead with his lecturers for an extension twice already. 

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?" He had jeered, and the woman visibly started and spun quickly on her heel.

"Did you paint these?" She asked, practically bristling with excitement. Her voice was weighed with a heavy European accent, deeper than Levi had thought it would be. She was flushed, smiling stupidly, her hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail with a pair of glasses poised atop her head, pushing back her fringe. 

"Obviously." He retorted dryly, thin eyes narrowing even further, "And I'd appreciate it if you left me alone so I can get back to finishing them."

"Oh," She said, her shoulders drooping in evident disappointment, "I was wanting to ask if you would answer some questions. About your painting?”

"No," Levi answered, dropping his belongings atop the desk and beginning to remove his coat, "Can't you see I'm really busy?" He asked, gesturing to the assortment of oil paint and canvases splay out over every available surface.

"Please?" She pleaded anyway, clasping her hands together animatedly with yet another perky grin, "You are foreign student, yes?" She continued, likely deducing as such by his own distinct accent, "So am I! We stick together, yes?""

"I said no," Levi repeated himself, his expression downright murderous by now. "Do I need to spell it out for you?"

She relented at this, lips pursed together in reluctant realisation, as if she was finally starting to understand that Levi genuinely wanted nothing to do with her. With one hand perched atop a cocked hip, she pondered this for a second longer before snapping her fingers together and pointing at him, "Your name, at least?"

"Levi." He said, his face still sour. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he added, "Levi Ackerman." 

"Ah," She said, her brow furrowed, "Have we met already?"

"What?" Levi balked, his patience all but having disappeared. He wasn't lying about being busy; he was working on a scale that was far bigger than he was used to, the canvas so large he could barely see over its top when it was secured to his easel. His wrists were aching from the days he had spent clutching a paintbrush, using the finest of tips to add the smallest of details and the slightest of alterations. The amount of effort he was pouring into this one piece was almost enough to make him _hate it_ , and the stress of his first real university deadline was majorly contributing to his sleepless nights. 

"Your face," She hummed, waving a hand dismissively in the air, "Is very familiar, you see?"

At that, all of his prior frustration melted away. It was replaced immediately by a visceral dread that twisted his stomach into knots. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a cold chill overcoming him unexpectedly, followed by a wave of vertigo. He recalled suddenly the sensation of fresh bandages wound tightly over his mouth and nose and eyes; pain and disorientation and hatred; _maybe we should just live here together, right, Levi?_

Instinctively, his hand flew upward to touch his face, half expecting to find it mutilated and sewn poorly together, stitches crisscrossing over his left eye. Instead, there was only the softness of his unblemished skin, heat emitting from the flush of his cheek.

He blinked in shock, his breath catching in his throat as he became aware of the woman watching him carefully. Bashfully, he dropped his arm back to his side and shuffled awkwardly from one foot to another. The room around him came back into focus, what he had known to be the constricting feeling of gauze fading as quickly as it had arrived.

"I’m Hange," She introduced herself, speaking slowly, “Nice to be meeting you.” But before Levi could even think to respond, his heart pounding in his chest and flooding his ears with the rushing noise of his own blood, another person he wasn't familiar with had appeared at the windows near the studio entrance. So distracted by the sight of him, Levi blinked and turned his attention to the way in which he pressed his face to the glass in an attempt to peer into the studio beyond.

From what little Levi could see of him, the man was average looking, with sandy hair and tanned skin. He soon gave up on the window and peeked his head around the corner of the large double doors, scanning the room until his gaze fell upon the only other two individuals present. "Hange!" He called, expression torn between both surprise and relief at the sight of them stood together, and he opened the door fully to better allow him to slip inside. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Ah! Moblit!" She chirped, happily. The man—Moblit—hesitated, but finally began to approach them both cautiously. Before he could make it very far into the room, Hange had already skipped over to close the distance between them by herself. She paused when she reached the newcomer, shooting a look over her shoulder at Levi and throwing a courtesy wave in farewell. Then, casually, she turned to her friend and said something boldly in what Levi assumed was German. 

Levi watched hopelessly as she left the studio, his brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching the man for answers. "What did she just say?" He demanded to know, marching over to all but square up to the stranger who clearly had over a head of height on him. 

Moblit looked back at Levi sheepishly, almost apologetically, "That your name is Levi," He began reluctantly, "And that she thinks you have a Napoleon complex."

(On that day he had first met Hange, back home in his shitty apartment and trying to ignore the sound of what was most _definitely_ loud sex coming from the tenants above, Levi recounted their odd conversation to Furlan. He had purposefully left out the remark Hange had made about his face being familiar, as well as his reaction to it, but little much else. He had expected sympathetic outrage or some sort of witty commentary in regards to the _Napoleon_ remark. But he had been surprised when, instead, Furlan only laughed heartily in response. 

"Awh, Levi," He had eventually said, after his laughter subsided enough for him to manage to splutter out a coherent sentence, "It sounds like you finally made a friend.")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neat! plot! i wanted to introduce erwin even later than this chapter, but i also wanted to just get the ball rolling already. im also trying to keep the reincarnation aspect as vague as possible for the time being, so i really hope im not boring everyone's socks off in the process. thanks for reading!<3

After a while of talking and finishing the remainder of their drinks, Moblit let out a sigh and stood from the booth. "I should get back to the library," He announced, cocking an eyebrow at Hange in questioning, "You coming with?"

"Sure!" She agreed, clearly happy that Moblit had invited her along. Most other people would have known by now not to let Hange accompany them to a library, given that she was physically incapable of shutting her mouth.

Moblit, it appeared, wasn't like most other people.

(That, or he was stupider than Levi had originally thought.)

"You're welcome to join us, Levi." Moblit offered, turning his gaze upon him now, and Hange nodded along in agreement.

"I'll pass," He said, shaking his head, "I've got some errands I need to run."

"That means he's gotta go buy his third bottle of bleach this week," Hange teased.

But Moblit only flashed an understanding smile, choosing not to comment on Hange's jab, "I wish I could hang out longer," He began instead, "But I've got a paper due tomorrow."

Levi couldn't say he was surprised; Moblit was always outrageously busy. Out of their current circle of friends, he was one of the few who wasn't majoring in an arts subject. Rather, he was a third-year sociology student. He was in the process of completing a dual foreign language degree, several months shy of graduation, while also juggling a paid internship.

Levi joked that dating Hange was, in itself, a full-time job, too.

But Moblit never complained; on the contrary, he seemed freakishly happy to cater to Hange. He was the most patient person Levi had ever met, enthusiastically revising his role as her dedicated boyfriend and part-time translator when need be, smiling all the while. And, as vomit-inducing as it could be on occasion, Levi was happy for them. It was apparent the two of them loved one another, even if Hange had an odd way of showing it.

(She had once offered to commemorate Moblit by sculpting him in the style of one of her ugly little clay men. Moblit had politely declined. Levi didn't blame him.)

"If you aren't busy," Moblit continued suddenly, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, "Hange and I were gonna grab lunch again tomorrow. Wanna come?"

Momentarily, Levi hesitated. His eyes flickered to Hange, gauging her reaction. He wouldn't want to intrude if it had been some kind of date. But Hange was smiling at him invitingly, obviously completely on board. And so Levi shrugged, "Sure. Sounds great." 

Together they began to gather their belongings, Levi also taking the time to stack their cups neatly, and then they both stood to join Moblit outside of the booth. Levi fiddled with the buckles of his satchel as Hange shouldered on her backpack, all three of them then making their way out of the café. Once outside, they said their mutual goodbyes and Moblit left in the general direction of the library.

But for a moment, Hange hung back. She shot Levi a sidelong glance, "By the by, Petra was looking for you."

"Petra?" Levi echoed, "What for?"

Hange shrugged, "Dunno. She said something about capes?"

"Oh, right, that," Levi murmured, nodding in affirmation. Hange looked at him as if hoping he would elaborate. But he didn't, finding himself oddly embarrassed by the specifics. 

(Mostly because he didn't like the way that Hange would wiggle her eyebrows and wink at him suggestively whenever Petra was mentioned.)

Petra was a fashion student, and a year younger than him. She had also been one of the unfortunate people that Hange had unsuccessfully attempted to set him up with. They had been introduced through mutual friends, and Levi had liked her more than he had thought he would. But he knew he could never date her, despite it being apparent from that start that she was painfully into him. Each time he looked at her, he would be filled with a weird rush of guilt. He liked spending time with her, regardless. Outside of Moblit and Hange, he was almost certain Petra was actually the person he spent the most time with. 

This was especially the case considering she had recently been hitting a wall with ideas. Several weeks prior, she had expressed her frustrations over her sudden art block to Levi. Before he had been able to stop himself, he had stupidly opened his mouth and made a suggestion: capes. Green capes adorned with wings, like the ones he'd be surrounded by in his daydreams and nightmares alike.

She had taken a shine to the idea immediately, enough so that she had insisted Levi assist her in their design. At first, he'd refused. But over time, Petra's nagging had worn him down enough to reluctantly agree. Most of his weekends since had been in Petra's company, both of them trying to find the exact swatch of green fabric that would meet her expectations. (Levi was half-convinced he'd be happier with helping Hange figure out the best way to affix clumps of hair to her clay monstrosities.)

"I should get going," Hange finally said, reluctantly accepting that Levi wasn't suddenly going to confess his long-withstanding desire to marry Petra. "But, Levi, one last thing—your art really is good, y'know." She said, suddenly, "You're too hard on yourself."

Taken by surprise at her forwardness, Levi rose a thin eyebrow. "It's ugly," He replied—slowly, but not argumentatively. He stated it as a matter of fact: the brutish ugliness of these paintings could be seen from the first glance at his work. He didn't attempt to prettify things, didn't bother with any misplaced romanticism. The scenes he depicted were sombre and ill-fated, very rarely straying from a gloomy vantage point.

"Don't be stupid," Hange tutted, her voice oddly soft, "Just because some things are ugly, it doesn't mean they can't also be wonderful."

But then she was grinning at him again, flashing him her signature toothy smile, "Take your face, for example." He scowled at her as she cackled, slapping him on the back happily, "Kidding!" She said, moving to follow after Moblit, "Take care of yourself, Levi!" She called over her shoulder, and Levi rose his hand in farewell.

He stalled, watching as she jogged to catch up with Moblit. She linked arms with him as soon as they were side-by-side and, even from so far away, Levi could see Moblit turn to smile at her.

He huffed a quiet laugh, turning in the opposite direction and beginning his walk to the supermarket.

After having finished buying his weekly groceries (consisting mostly of tea and instant noodles, but he had also bought that bottle of bleach Hange had joked about earlier) Levi made a detour to a local art supply store. Inside, he spent so long debating on which colour paint to buy that two employees had already paused to ask if he needed assistance, faces pulled into unconvincing smiles. He had declined both offers, and they'd sauntered off somewhere deeper into the store, conversing between themselves or restocking shelves. 

It took him half an hour to decide on three colours: one tube of white paint to replace his depleted supply, and two interesting looking shades of green. (He hadn't been able to choose between the two of them, even if the variation in colour was minuscule.)

While he was there he also took the time to buy another putty eraser and a pencil sharpener, to replace the one Hange had borrowed but never returned. Satisfied with his selection, he picked up the grocery bag he'd lugged in to the store with him and approached the checkout area.

Near the checkout, shelves were displaying a variety of art supplies surrounded by signs promising upwards of forty percent off. He lingered, the tubes of oil paint clasped in his left hand. As much as Levi hated self-indulgence, he was very bad at ignoring recurrent sales. (The paint alone cost as much as three days worth of groceries, and he was kicking himself for considering buying anything more.)

He worried at his lip with his teeth, itching to pick up one of the many sketchbooks on display in front of him. They were of high quality to match the high price, the paper thick and smooth. In the past, Levi had made do with less—sometimes resorting to sketching in lined notebooks when he was particularly desperate.

Despite having been working in oils since high school, he much preferred the simplicity of his pencil sketches. Beyond the paintings of grandiose he produced as part of his workload, he also dabbled within the figurative arts. Almost always, he would keep a small sketchbook tucked away on his person for this purpose. He couldn't remember when exactly he had taken up the habit of carrying it with him everywhere, only that he had.

It was within these pocket-sized sketchbooks that he would feel most comfortable with making mistakes that he would otherwise never have tolerated. They were messy and unpolished, full of sketchy lines and smudged graphite from times he had clumsily dragged the side of his hand across the surface of the paper.

Over the years, the number of these sketchbooks had doubled.

And then they had tripled.

They had grown so vast in number that he could fill entire boxes with an abundance of sketchbooks. The content of each varied greatly in subject and skill—the earliest being little more than sloppy childhood drawings, with no sense of perspective or proportion.

He often debated throwing them out, trashing the ones that retained little use now that they were complete. After all, Levi was far from a sentimental man. His belongings were minimal, his living space free of clutter or unnecessary decor. On the few occasions he allowed Hange over to his apartment, she'd comment dryly on just how empty it was.

But for whatever reason, he could never bring himself to do it. The boxes full of old books had even accompanied him from France, remaining stashed neatly beneath his bed to this day. Sometimes, he would drag them out to flick through them—just to remind himself that he had started somewhere. He had practised relentlessly, working himself up from these amateurish drawings to what was now a very apparent talent within the arts.

The reminder never brought the sense of fulfilment that he always hoped it would, but it didn't hurt to revisit his roots on occasion.

He'd only just finished his most recent sketchbook. It had taken him mere weeks to fill with sketches of trivial things: several of Hange's face, Moblit's side profile, studies he'd done of strangers on trains and in coffee shops. He drew birds and fruit and there was a notable collection of portraits of Petra's smile, which he was especially taken by.

He spared another longing glance at the sketchbooks in front of him. They were undeniably pricey, even with the sale deduction, but the temptation to indulge was irresistible. He deserved this, he argued with himself, and it certainly wouldn't be a waste of money—after all, he didn't have any incomplete sketchbooks at home. This was enough to convince him. He grabbed one of them before he could change his mind, hurriedly placing it on the counter alongside the tubes of paint. 

It took all of his willpower not to cringe when the cashier informed him of his total. He paid, pocketed his wallet and then accepted the paper bag that was handed to him over the counter.

"Have a good day," Said the smiling cashier, and he shakily nodded in response.

By the time he was preparing to head back to his apartment, the sky was already bleeding a deep shade of orange. For that time of year, an early sunset wasn't an uncommon occurrence. But Levi wasn't an idiot—he knew better than to wander the streets of London under the cover of darkness, even if it was barely four o'clock.

He made his way to the nearest station, grocery bag jolting against his thigh with each step. He had shoved the other paper bag into the plastic one, his art supplies mingling with his grocery purchases. The handles were dangling from his index and middle finger, twisting themselves into knots at each impact with his leg. But he was exhausted, unable to muster the energy to shift it into a more convenient position. Instead, he tried his best to push the minor irritation to the back of his mind.

It wasn't such an issue when he eventually boarded the train, pressing himself into an unoccupied corner of the carriage as usual. Finally, he was able to drop his bag to the floor and manoeuvre it so that it was securely positioned between both feet. Relieved to be free of the annoyance at last, he leaned heavily against the wall behind him, his eyes lulling shut.

Last night had been awful, with him tossing and turning straight up until his alarm had sounded. At times he wondered why he even bothered to set an alarm anymore. There was never any chance that he'd sleep through them. 

Straightening up as the train began to move, he quickly retrieved his handkerchief from his satchel and took hold of the railing closest to him. The journey back to his accommodation wasn't long, but it was tedious when he was running on no sleep with a persistent headache. As fun as socialising could be at times, it never failed to leave him drained and sluggish. All he wanted to do at that moment was collapse into his bed, comforted by the promise of a somewhat fulfilling sleep after such a long day. (Which, by his standards, was still pretty awful.)

But before he could get too comfortable, a prickling sensation crawling along the back of his neck made Levi freeze. It was the feeling that would often signify that he was being watched.

Stiffening on instinct, he repositioned himself so that he could survey the passengers around him. There weren't many; a couple of teenagers to his left, a seated woman in heels who was too absorbed in her phone to pay much attention to him. From what he could see, nobody was staring at him. He was about to brush it off as paranoia, but something out of the corner of his eye made him crane his head to the side. 

And that was when he finally saw him:

Tall and blonde, with a strong, aquiline nose.

Amazingly, this man looked exactly like what he had imagined _Erwin_ would look, if he were a real person. 

And Levi couldn’t tear his eyes away.

In the absence of any real idea as to how Erwin might look, Levi had improvised. Many of his sketchbooks were full of doodles of his interpretations, most scrawled out with black ink when he had become frustrated at the imagined inaccuracies. The result was a relatively mediocre-looking man, who possessed the few features that Levi knew Erwin to have. And yet, this random person seemed to perfectly live up to these standards.

Beyond his likeness to a figment of Levi's imagination, he was dressed smartly, in a peacoat with Oxford shoes and a checkered scarf. His blonde hair was neatly parted, his attire weather appropriate, and in his lap was a briefcase. Even if he hadn’t been reminiscent of Erwin, Levi was certain he’d have caught his attention solely for his outwardly presentable appearance. He definitely didn't look like the type of person who would willingly take public transport.

Enamoured with him, Levi crouched to rummage around in the bag at his feet until he found the paper bag containing his purchases from the art store. He grabbed the sketchbook, hurriedly straightening himself up. He kept a mechanical pencil in his interior coat pocket, and he reached for that, too. His handkerchief had fallen to the floor in his haste, but he kicked it aside, preoccupied with flipping open the sketchbook and quickly beginning to sketch out guidelines.

His chest was tight, fluttering in his excitement. Each glance he stole seemed to further prove that the stranger was everything he had fantasised and more. As quickly and as accurately as he possibly could, he tried to copy his features down onto the paper. If he could preserve this man in his sketchbook, Levi was convinced he would be able to immortalise the sheer thrill he had experienced upon laying eyes on him. 

Throughout the train journey, he managed to fill several pages of the new sketchbook. Unfortunately, in the process of doing so, he just hadn't realised how _obvious_ he was being. He had been too excited to keep his intentions inconspicuous and, as a result, his constant ogling hadn't gone unnoticed. 

Suddenly sensing somebody stood to his side, Levi glanced up from where he had his nose buried in his sketchbook and almost yelped. Somehow, this man had crossed the length of the carriage to peer over Levi's shoulder, and he hadn't even heard him approach. Evidently, he'd gotten sick of the staring and had chosen to confront him. He snapped his book shut, angling it away in embarrassment, mortified that he had been caught in the act.

"Do I have something on my face?" The man asked, slowly, his words laced with a subtle European accent.

"No," Levi choked out, shoving his hands behind his back, concealing the sketchbook and pencil like a scolded child attempting to hide the evidence of a broken vase, "Not unless you're counting those two freaking caterpillars that you're trying to pass off as eyebrows, holy shit."

He laughed, the sound making Levi's chest clench with some unnameable emotion. 

"I couldn't help but notice you were staring." He explained, "Then I realised, you were drawing me. You're an art student."

By now, Levi was fuming. His cheeks were hot with shame, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"How could you tell?" He asked, "And, no, I wasn't." He spat, aware of how pitiful it sounded even as he was saying it. He dropped to the floor, sitting back on his haunches to fully put away his sketchbook. It was probably painfully obvious that he was just looking for an excuse to avoid making eye contact, to hide his burning face.

"Your lanyard. The sketchbook. It isn't rocket science."

He'd forgotten he had opted to wear his school lanyard that day, proudly displaying his university name and the incriminating _school of art_ emblem. Levi's head shot up to hiss an insult, but his words died on his tongue at the view: this man, looking down at him, the ungodly lighting of the train casting his face with deep shadows, accentuating the sharp upturn of his nose.

How was he beautiful even from this unflattering angle?

"If you wanted to draw me, you could have just asked, you know." He simpered, eyes searching Levi as he remained stubbornly silent, glaring up at him from the ground.

"For the last time, I _wasn't_ drawing you." Levi vehemently insisted, snapping out of his daze and standing unsteadily to his feet. 

"It certainly _looked_ like you were drawing me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Levi scoffed. But his voice cracked, and he didn't sound nearly as self-assured as he would have hoped. 

All the while, the man just smiled at him knowingly.

Up close, it was possible to see how startlingly blue his eyes were. When he smiled, the corners of them would crinkle into defined crows feet. Between avoiding direct eye contact and trying to mentally document as many minute details as possible, Levi felt drunk off of the strangeness of this encounter. He wanted to remember this face, in all of its glory, knowing that he would return home to pour over the memory in an attempt to paint it as reliably as possible.

"Well, if you _were_ drawing me," He said while Levi was distracted, pausing and raising his hands in mock surrender when Levi moved to protest, " _Hypothetically,_ of course. I wouldn't have minded."

Overhead, the robotic voice of the announcer chimed, informing the passengers that they were pulling into the next station. It was followed by the usual scripted instructions asking them to mind the gap, to stand clear of the doors. Levi watched as he gathered his briefcase from the floor, stepping away to position himself in front of the exit. He was holding onto the handle overhead with his free hand, only serving to emphasise just how tall he was.

"This is my stop," He said, as the train came to a halting stop. "Good luck with your studies." 

Wordlessly, Levi nodded. The doors slid open, the man releasing his hold on the handles and then stepping briskly out onto the platform in one smooth motion.

Almost as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone again. 

For a few seconds, Levi stood motionless, shocked into silence. It took him glancing down at his feet, at the corner of the sketchbook poking out from amid his groceries, for him to come to his senses. 

Taking hold of the carrier bag's handles, he dashed from the train and out onto the platform. He didn't think twice about what he was doing, refusing to give himself enough time to talk himself out of actually doing it. The wind whipped his hair into his face, but he jerked his head from left to right in search of the blonde. Upon catching sight of him, something inside of him snapped. The man was leaving, readying himself to ascend the station's stairs and out of Levi's life forever. 

"Wait!" Levi yelled after him, and he was shocked by the volume of his own voice. He was usually soft-spoken, his words rarely ever raising above a hiss or a whisper. It wasn't often he would be overcome with the urge to shout, to try to get another person's attention in such an impassioned way. But then he watched as the man's head turned toward him, his confusion melting into a smile when he realised who was calling after him.

And it was all the motivation Levi needed to take a few steps forward, to cry out over the roar of the now departing train, "Can I draw you?"


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hope everybody's quarantine has been going well, here's more of levi being a pissant<3

At Levi's suggestion, they traded phone numbers. Together they stood on the platform, huddled over their phones as Levi hurriedly fumbled to key in the string of numbers being recounted to him. It was cold, and it was becoming increasingly apparent to him that he had no idea where he was. He'd followed this man off of the train without a second thought, meaning he hadn't had the mind to pay attention to which station they were in.

It was then that he also finally took note of just how late it was: when he had boarded the train back in central London, the sky had been orange. It was now an inky blue, the last of the sun melting beneath the horizon as the day drew to a close. 

Exactly how long had he been on that train, captivated by this man? How many stops had he senselessly missed, too busy with his sketching?

He hesitated, finger hovering over the add contact button. "I don't even know your name," He murmured, quickly glancing upwards from beneath the sheet of his fringe. His eyes searched this stranger's face, the one now inked into his sketchbook and burnt into his memory by its uniquely familiar beauty.

Quickly, Levi typed in " _Eyebrows_ " as a placeholder. 

"I saw that," He tutted, sternly, mirroring the energy of a disappointed teacher catching students in the act of some sort of schoolyard debauchery.

"Good." Levi retorted, "I think it's fitting."

"My name is actually Erwin," He sniffed, "But I get the feeling you won't be changing that any time soon, anyway."

"What?" Levi balked, disbelievingly. _Bullshit._

"Excuse me?"

"What did you just say your name was?" He asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"It's Erwin," The blonde repeated, questioningly, "Is something the matter?"

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Hange had put him up to this, and Moblit was probably in on it. They'd be waiting to laugh about it tomorrow, which is probably why they'd been so excited to invite him to lunch. Levi's face burnt in indignation, freshly humiliated by the escapades of his friends and his own gullibility at falling for it.

But there was one problem with this:

Levi had never told either of them about any of his daydreams.

The only one who knew anything about them was Furlan, who was still in France and probably too preoccupied with his own life to orchestrate some elaborate prank just to make Levi look like an idiot.

So what the fuck kind of coincidence was this?

"No, it's nothing," Levi managed to choke out, hurrying to change the subject and push all of his panicked thoughts aside, "And you're right, I won't be changing it. Where are we, by the way?"

"What?" He asked, "You don't know?"

"No," Levi replied, and he pocketed his phone to better survey his surroundings. He took a few staggering steps back, peering at the unexpectedly leafy environment and the starkly empty station. "I think I'm pretty far away from where I need to be though, that's for sure."

"It's Epping," Erwin replied as if Levi didn't have two eyes and couldn't read the subway signs plastered over the walls his damn self.

"No shit," Levi murmured, sarcastically, "I'm just not from here. I don't really get out much outside of uni, so I have no idea where in London that is."

"Ah." He smiled, "Actually, this is Essex. This is the end of the line."

Levi's head whipped around in shock, "Fuck." He cursed, and he chose not to acknowledge the way Erwin's lips quirked upward in an expression of amusement.

Instead, he paced over to the edge of the platform and peered out into the distance. By some stroke of luck, there was a train approaching, rattling along the tracks amid the gloom in a string of light and noise. He could only hope boarding that train would get him back to a more local station, where he could book it home before it got any later or, God forbid, he would have to call Moblit for a ride. He backtracked, gathering the grocery bag he'd left behind, and waited eagerly for the train to pull into the station.

As it drew closer, Levi saw that the inside of its carriages was as empty as the station itself, without even a single straggler left lounging about the seats. He was thankful for the lack of rush hour crowds, but it was the first time during his time in London that he had ever actually witnessed a wholly empty train. It was almost enough to give him the creeps.

"Wait," Erwin called, after a startled moment, just as the train had officially arrived and Levi had fully turned his back upon the man in favour of leaving, "You haven't told me _your_ name yet."

"Napoleon." Levi spat, jamming the button to open the doors and stepping into the awaiting train as quickly as he possibly could. He wanted away from this place, away from the strange man and his beautiful face.

But, as he boarded, he hesitated. And then, on second thought, poked his head around the still-open door to yell out to Erwin, "I'll call you."

He made it home almost two hours later, relieved that he was familiar enough with the central line to get back to somewhere he could recognise. Unfortunately, he went on to discover that the elevator had broken down in his flat building, and he had begrudgingly had to walk up the several flights of steps to his room (albeit after a fair amount of cursing and causing a racket he didn't doubt was worth a noise complaint).

Practically collapsing into his apartment after such an exhausting day, he dropped his keys and his grocery bags near the front door and beelined for the kitchenette in order to make himself a well-deserved cup of tea. 

It was here, while waiting for his water to boil, that Levi was finally able to comprehend just how impossible this chance encounter was. Beyond the most pressing of coincidences, Levi was surprised this man had actually had the balls to casually make conversation with him in the first place. After all, Levi was neither an approachable or particularly welcoming person, as his friends often liked to remind him. His habitual tendency to dress in black, his resting bitch face, his automatic snideness in response to the company of a stranger—these qualities alone meant most people would go out of their way to actively avoid him. 

So why had this man done the opposite? What had compelled him to exchange numbers and idle flirtations, to ask for Levi's name and to show interest in his life? 

Maybe it was because Erwin had recognised him, too. 

"Impossible," He snorted aloud, his words immediately swallowed up by the stagnant atmosphere of his bedroom. 

_But how was he so sure?_ a small voice argued from somewhere deep inside of him. 

Because it was ridiculous. Because it was factually impossible. Because Erwin Smith had died on a rooftop. 

If nothing else, Levi remembered the hulking dead-weight of his body as he had carried it to its final resting place; the crippling grief that accompanied his first night spent alone without Erwin beside him. It had been the first solitary night of many, Levi recalled, because it had taken a while until he had also died. 

The sudden ringing of his phone interrupted his thoughts, forcing him back to reality before he could question where his mind had drifted to. So startled by the unexpected noise, Levi had almost screamed. 

He felt silly immediately after, laughing nervously to himself as he suspiciously eyed the phone that was face-down on the countertop. With a trembling hand, he reached out and picked it up. The caller ID notified him that it was just Petra, and he scoffed—he'd forgotten to call her after how hectic his afternoon had been.

Answering the phone, he swallowed thickly before he greeted her, hoping his voice wouldn't betray his discomposure. "Hello?"

"Levi!" She chirped, clearly surprised he had picked up. He'd almost let the phone ring out before hitting the answer button. "Did Hange give you my message?"

"Message?" Levi echoed, securing his phone in place between his shoulder and his left ear as he busied himself with brewing his tea. He tried desperately to quell the shaking of his hands, lest the chattering of his teaspoon against his teacup alert Petra that something was wrong.

"I'm guessing that's a no," Petra said, "Well, guess what? I found it!"

"Found what? Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

"Don't be silly!" She reprimanded, clearly missing the sarcasm practically dripping from every one of his words, "The fabric, of course. For the cloaks? I bought as much of it as I could carry back to my place. Just wait until you see it, Levi, it's fabulous!"

"Oh," Levi said, disinterested and beginning to tune out from the conversation even as Petra was speaking, "Congratulations. But what does this have to do with me?"

"Well," Petra said, uncertainly, "I still need your help."

"What?" He laughed, taking hold of his phone and pressing it to his ear properly now, abandoning his beverage in the process, "Petra, I can't even sew. You found the fabric, isn't that all you needed me for?"

"No, that's not what I mean," She explained, "I don't need you to sew, I need you to model the finished product for me."

"You're serious?"

"Of course."

"No way."

"Please, Levi?" She begged, "You said you'd help. And besides, you've always looked great in green."

"No, Petra, jeez. Did you really think I'd say yes? Can't you ask Hange or something?"

"Hange is nowhere near as photogenic as you. And she never sits still. Do you know how hard it is to get a decent picture of her at the best of times? I need this for my portfolio, so it's actually important. I can't even get her to take it seriously. So, please?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, Levi let out a hiss of annoyance at the pleading tone now present in Petra's voice. He hated having his photograph taken, and especially didn't feel like posing in front of a camera for an hour as Petra whinged about his complexion or posture. "I don't know, Petra," He said, still unconvinced, "Is there really nobody else you can ask? I'm kind've busy."

"You're always busy."

"And yet you always ask me to do this sort've bullshit," He snapped. But he was immediately struck with guilt at the way Petra suddenly went silent on the other end of the line. "Look," He finally said, shoulders squared in resignation, "I'm sorry. I've just had a shitty day."

"I can tell," Petra replied, dryly. But then she cleared her throat dismissively, and he breathed a sigh of relief at her ongoing willingness to overlook his short temper. "Alright," She began, "I'll make you a deal: you find me another model by the time I'm done with the prototype, somebody who _isn't_ Hange, and I'll let you off the hook."

"How am I supposed to find somebody else?" Levi demanded, "You already know all of my friends."

"Then make some new friends," She quipped, teasingly, "Do we have a deal?"

"Fine," Levi spat, hanging up on her, refusing to give her the chance to mock his reluctance any further. 

Just as he was about to place his phone back onto the counter beside him, however, he caught sight of a new notification flashing across his lock screen.

It was a text, a simple greeting from none other than Eyebrows himself:

_I hope you got home safely._

Levi's heart skipped a beat.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it really took me six months to update this... i'm alive but i'm dead.  
> (super sorry for the short chapter, i'm actually working on a more detailed one right now.,. hopefully it wont take me another six months)

It started with a bang. 

More specifically, it started with guns—guns not unlike the ones that Levi would once have used to give out smoke signals. Flumes of purple and green and black, sent soaring into the skies above with ear splitting whizzes and pops. To his left, far across a vast expanse of green grass, an identical signal would appear, followed closely by several more further down the line. An orchestra of non-verbal communication, spanning miles of open fields and mingling with the quickly approaching footsteps of... Of what?

Danger. 

That’s what the black smoke would signify. Levi knew that with a certainty that was well beyond his ten years of age.

He knew because Erwin had told him so.

But _these_ guns were different. They were weapons brandished by police officers, pointed at assailants who screamed obscenities as they were handcuffed against the hoods of street cars. 

These guns shot bullets and not smoke signals. 

Levi kept his eyes glued to the television regardless, both scandalised by the foul language and transfixed by the violence of it all. He flinched at each gunshot, at the strings of profanities. But mostly he was overcome with the dizzying sensation he would sometimes experience upon waking too quickly from a dream, snapping back to consciousness in a way that left him confused and still groggy. 

Someone had left this television on in the hospital room while his mother was away, both to keep him entertained and to ensure he didn't wander off in search of something else to occupy him. The various nurses and doctors scattered about the hospital were too busy to watch over him, judging themselves to be above the meagre work of a day care employee. 

He was tired, still clad in his school uniform. Outside it was dark. The room itself was lit up only by the television screen, with the flashing blue and red of police sirens that were starting to make his eyes water and sting. He didn’t move to turn it off, still fixated on the flash of a pistol, yanked from the concealed folds of a jacket and pointed at the police officers giving chase.

It was then that his mother reappeared, peaky faced and bleary eyed and unsteady on her feet. She was always like this after a round of chemotherapy. When Levi finally realised she was stood there in the doorway, he turned just in time to catch her trying her best to flatten what little remained of her hair back down over her scalp. Noticing him staring, she flinched in surprise, hand jerking back to her side and eyes flickering to the television her son was crouched in front of. 

“Who let you watch this?” She asked, advancing further into the room, her brow furrowing at the sound of a particularly vulgar insult.

“A nurse,” He replied, his gaze following her as she picked up the remote and switched off the television. They were plunged into momentary darkness, until her hand found the light switch and turned it on. The lightbulb flickered twice, before the room exploded into brightness and Levi clamped his eyes shut at the sudden intrusion. 

“I don’t want you watching that stuff. You’re too young.”

He nodded obediently, but not because he necessarily agreed with her. Rather, Levi was too distracted by how awful she looked to argue. The light did nothing but accentuate that, somehow managing to make her skin look even sicklier, her hollow eyes now dead and fishlike. Any semblance of relief at her return, at the promise of finally being allowed to go home after such a long day, was dwarfed by the dread he experienced at the realisation that the chemo wasn’t working. 

(How was it that he was old enough to realise that his mother was dying, but too young to watch some shitty cop show?)

“Sorry,” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes to soothe the ache, “The guns just reminded me of something Erwin told me one time.”

He took his hands away from his face as his mother stiffened, her back bent as she stooped to pick up his coat from the hospital bed. She was in the process of folding it over her arm, smoothing out the creases, when she turned to give her son a long, sideways glance, “Levi,” She asked, slowly, “Who’s Erwin?” 

And Levi couldn’t give her an answer. 

He thought of that moment often. He had been too young at the time to acknowledge it as what it was: a turning point. It was in that moment that everything had begun; suddenly, Levi’s attention turned itself inward to a dream world of escapism and fantasy. 

His mother’s question haunted him. Even now, over a decade later, Levi still struggled to articulate who exactly Erwin was. Snippets of Erwin’s wisdom still managed to surface over the years, both about the source of those dangerous footsteps and various other miscellaneous irrelevances. 

(Sometimes, on his bad days, where he scrubbed at himself until he bled, Levi would even hear a distant voice echoing in his mind:

_Levi, your poor hands, don’t you think that’s enough?_

He’d go on scrubbing them regardless, cursing himself and cursing Erwin and cursing the phantom bacteria contaminating his skin.)

Now, back to the present, in his tiny kitchenette stood staring at his phone screen, Levi let himself momentarily wonder whether he’d found his answer.

Was _this_ Erwin? Could he finally stop obsessing over that question? 

Perhaps that was wishful thinking. After all, their meeting had been rather anticlimactic. Levi liked to think that if he ever did meet the genuine Erwin, should he even _exist,_ there would be a lot more emotion involved. _This_ Erwin only invoked a particular agitation inside of him that made him want to pluck his eyebrows from his face and gag him with them. 

(And Levi felt that way about everyone.)

But this fact alone didn't stop him from opening Erwin's contact and hitting the dial button, choosing to go one step further by responding to the text message with a phone call. It wasn't until the second dial that he had begun to regret the decision, suddenly losing all of his prior cockiness.

Would this be considered weird? Was it too early to call? Should he just text back instead?

But by the third dial, Erwin picked up with a disgruntled _Hello?_ and Levi found himself unable to dwell on his anxieties for much longer before he was speaking, his mouth working quicker than his mind, "Impatient, are we?" He teased, "I said I'd call."

“I just wanted to be sure you got home safely.” Erwin said, blatantly ignoring the challenge in Levi’s voice, “You looked pretty shocked when I told you we were in Essex. I was worried you might have gotten yourself lost.”

Levi resisted the urge to sarcastically retch into the receiver at the overt display of genuine concern. "Has your name always been Erwin?" He interjected instead, relishing in the momentary pause of surprise on the other end of the line.

"Has yours always been Napoleon?" Erwin shot back.

Levi frowned. How dare he compose himself so quickly. "No." He said, “It hasn’t.”

"In that case, are you ever going to tell me your actual name?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, sparing a glance behind him at his long-neglected cup of tea. He'd have to brew another.

"It's Levi," He finally confessed, worrying at his lower lip, “Levi Ackerman, since you’re all about formalities.”

"Levi Ackerman," The man repeated, slowly, as if savouring it, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Levi.”

Levi's stomach turned. He swallowed thickly, hating himself for being rendered speechless so easily.

"Yes, by the way,” Erwin said, seeming not to have noticed the silence, “My name has always been Erwin."

"You look like an Erwin,” Levi sniffed.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I'm not sure. I don’t think so."

The resounding laugh he received at that made him chuckle despite himself, and he reached back to steady himself against the countertop with his free hand. “Oi,” He said, unsure where his sudden burst of confidence had come from, “If you’re not busy tomorrow, would you mind helping me with something?”


End file.
